


I May Have Killed a Guy

by caleprwrite



Series: Imagine [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Just a Girl, Kindred Spirits, Minor Character Death, The Author May or May Not have Regrets, What Happened Before Romania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caleprwrite/pseuds/caleprwrite
Summary: - Imagine you and the Winter Soldier almost cross paths once. -Also inspired by the prompt:“Is this the part where you tell me you’ll kill me if I hurt her?”“No. If you hurt her, she’s more than capable of killing you herself. In many ways.”But darker...I like to imagine Mack the barkeep saying this to a random fuckboy who has had a few too many.





	I May Have Killed a Guy

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this one happened. It's been tossing around in the back of my brain for a while, so Mazel Tov.

The dim lighting and tinny sounds bouncing off the poor acoustics drummed on in the background, lending a familiar feel to the dive bar. It was your typical hole in the wall, an eclectic mix of regulars, drunk kids out for a night in the city, and anonymous patrons, just passing through, just getting by in their small lives.

It was that very mixture that drew her back every time. She knew Mack the barkeep and Lydia the waitress by name, but they didn’t know hers. She liked it that way. Familiar but not so much that it bred any closeness or pretense. They only knew her as the Moscatini in the corner.

A few of the regulars had foolishly tried to pick up on her. It usually only happened once, because the woman they were met with held her own without fail. She’d either ignore them completely like they didn’t even exist, or meet them with a smile.

The smile is the one that put an end to whatever they had hopes of starting. It was eerily haunting, they way her eyes held the promise of a painful death, her smile sharp enough to slice your throat without batting an eye.

There were a few others like her, she could tell. They didn’t stay long, though, most realizing she was already a fixture there. They’d move on to another hole in the wall. This one was hers. Even so, they were more than welcome to share as long as they didn’t get in her way.

There was one man that came around a few times. He’d sit at the end of the bar counter, where the best sightlines were. Close to the exit.

He was dangerous. She could smell the death on his hands a mile away, and it intrigued her. They almost bumped into each other that one time, and she’d seen the hollow soul in the quick glimpse she stole behind those icy blue eyes.

_He was as dead inside as she was. She knew her kind._

After that night, he moved on. Must have found another place to watch. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed. He was familiar, the kind she liked. The kind that would sit quietly like her, take his time nursing a beer or glass of whiskey, watching silently. She quickly pushed the thought of him from her mind. She had other things to do with her time and attention.

Every now and then, some dumb kid would get cocky enough or drunk enough to give picking up on her a try. That’s what fed whatever was left of her heart, the regular opportunity to scare dumb and drunk little pricks shitless. She heard everything, the ignorant bravado he threw around with his friends, the way they’d all dare each other to talk to her, see who could get her home that night.

She listened, unseemingly engrossed in her book under the dim lamp in the corner booth, as his steps faltered. The false confidence he tried to portray, and the high alcohol content in his blood, each battling to do the most damage to his gate. It was the same each time. Face after faceless man, all on the same mission.   

“Fifty bucks says she comes home with me tonight,” they’d say.

_Fuck your fifty bucks. It’d take a hell of a lot more than that, little boy._

She was an excellent judge of character. She could tell the harmless ones from the ones who liked scaring women, or even the real pieces of shit that got off on hurting innocent people. Having their way purposely without consent. Every now and then she’d let that one get his hopes up, drawing him in. She’d lick her teeth, look up from under her dark lashes and smile oh-so-sweetly.

He’d offer her a drink. She’d act tipsy already when they spoke, so he always wanted to get her to drink just a little more. Lower her defenses, her standards. Impair her fine motor skills.

_Oh, I couldn’t possibly, I’ve already had too many… Well okay, sure, you can buy me a drink._

She’d really put a show on. Act innocent. Play the part. Test him out once they’d left and see how he handled a change of pace. Rejection. She’d even take a few hits and scrapes from him before she let him think he’d won.

Just when it seemed the tables turned, she’d pull her hairpin out and plunge it into the intercostal space between his fourth and fifth ribs. Her eyes would burn bright and that sharp smile would return.

“Feel that?” she’d purr, kissing and nipping against his jaw as he fought for air. “That’s what it feels like when your lungs are full of hot, sticky blood. If my hairpin was just an inch longer, it would have punctured your pericardial sac, and then your heart. Then you’d be gone instantly.” Then she’d laugh, hollow and bitter. “But where’s the fun in that?”

The gurgling would continue and he’d wheeze out blood. Desperation would take over as his body responded by speeding up his heart rate. That would only force blood into his chest cavity faster. She’d watch it all, enraptured in how someone who once was so strong, so virile could be reduced to a gurgling, pleading mess within seconds.

“Oh, no darling. The more you struggle the sooner it’ll all be over…”

Slowly, carefully, she’d lower him down, keeping him sitting upright. She wanted the last thing he saw to be her face. The face of a woman he thought he’d take against her will. Something once weak and useless in his eyes, now holding his life in her bare hands.

When the gurgling stopped and the last breath of air escaped from his body she’d take a moment, staring into the unresponsive, dilated pupils of a dead man. She was finally connected with him like that. After all, the eyes were the window to the soul.


End file.
